For Nothing
by storywriter713
Summary: A Destiel story that goes back and forth between AU and canon. The Winchesters are put into foster care at a young age. They're floating around while before finally finding the Road House Foster Center and settling down. They meet Castiel, a human boy separated from his family. Many trigger warnings, which are listed at the beginning of the story. M for a reason!
1. Trigger Warnings

**TRIGGER WARNINGS**

 _I do not have all of the chapters written out yet, so these are subject to change. I will update the trigger warnings list when necessary. These are the possible triggers that may be in the story. I don't know all of the possible triggers, so I apologize if any are not included. These are also spoilers._

 **WARNINGS:**

Rape/Non-Con

Sexual abuse

Kidnapping

Knives

Murder

Blood/Gore

Minor Character Death

Major Character Death

Foster Care

Self-Harm

Depression

Suicidal Thoughts

Suicide Attempt

Cussing/Slurs


	2. Mary Winchester's POV

Chapter 1

Mary Winchester's POV

I wipe the sweat dripping down my brow with the back of my hand. The kitchen is extremely hot. It's worth it, though. I'm baking an apple pie for my son, Dean. He is almost as obsessed with pie as I am obsessed with spoiling him. Almost. When he smiles he looks so much like my husband. His little chubby cheeks get even chubbier when he's smiling, and his little grins reach his green eyes. My son is the cutest thing on this planet with his dimples and freckles. He has blonde hair like me, only his is darker and not curly like mine.

"Pie!" Dean shouts, running as fast as his stubby legs can take him. He jumps into my arms and I pick him up, spinning him around as I do so. His little giggles fill me with joy, and I just can't keep the happy news from him anymore.

"I'm going to have another baby! A boy. You're going to be a big brother!" I announce, putting him down. I put my hands on my growing belly.

Dean looks at my stomach, and frowns. "Is that why you're tummy's so fat?"

I laugh. "Yes, honey, that's why."

"Babies poop a lot," he says, wrinkling his nose.

"Yes," I say.

"They cry a lot, too." My three year old son seems deep in thought.

"Yes, babies do cry." I smile at his thinking face. He looks so much like his father, my husband.

"Did I cry when I was a baby?" Dean asks.

"You did," I answer. I turn around to cut him a slice of homemade apple pie – his favorite.

"I don't cry anymore because I'm a big boy now!" He says proudly. I put the slice on a plate and hand it to him. "Pie! Thank you Mommy, I love you!" He sits on the floor and eats it all before I can even hand him a fork.

My heart breaks at the thought of my little boy, with pie crumbs on his mouth, lap, chin, and forehead, to learn to be a hunter. He would never have the childhood I want for him: where all he has to worry about is scraping his knee while he plays with his little brother. Not to learn how to shoot a gun by the time he's six, or to kill his first monster when he's eight. I just want my boys to have normal lives. As if to agree with me, the baby kicks inside me. I gasp, more out of shock than pain. Then, I smile. The little Winchester will be coming in about five months, and I just can't wait.

Dean yawns, and I realize that it's almost his bedtime. "Let's go brush your teeth, young man!"

John opens the front door, and comes into the house. Our little boy runs into his legs and hugs him, shouting, "Daddy's home! Daddy's home!" My husband laughs. He carefully removes Dean's hold on his legs. He spots me in the kitchen, and he grins the grin that made me fall in love with him. He strides over to me. Careful of the baby, he gently dips me as he kisses me on the mouth. I kiss back eagerly, my hands playing with his hair. I hear our son's, "Ew gross!" and pull away, laughing.

"I've decided on a name. Samuel, after your father," John says in my ear. "Just like how we named Dean after your mother."

"For my baby brother? Sam? Is that my little brother's name?" Dean asks.

Though the name of my late father brings back painful memories, what better way to honor his memory? "Yes."

5 MONTHS LATER

"Welcome home, Sammy," I coo, my sleeping baby boy in my arms. I press a soft kiss to his forehead before handing him – hesitantly – to John.

"He's my son too, you know," John whispers when he notices my hesitation.

"I know, I know," I mutter. Dean comes running, his baby sitter in tow.

"Can I see? Can I see Sammy?" he demands, standing on his tip toes and jumping up and down.

John chuckles. He carefully kneels so Dean can see his brother. "He's ugly, he looks like a wrinkly old frog man's butt," my four year old son says.

While John entertains Dean, I turn toward the baby sitter.

"Thank you so much for watching Dean. I know you asked for only twenty dollars, but here's fifty." I hand him two twenties and a ten. "Thank you so much, Michael."

"No, thank _you._ It was an honor to watch Dean. He's going to do great things when he's a grown man. Great things," Michael says. I swear, that boy's an angel.

I walk Michael to the front door before returning to my family. Sam's crying because Dean woke him up from his nap. I take our baby from John and sit on the couch to nurse him. He eats well, and he's a chubby little guy, who I can tell is going to grow tall and strong, like his father. I smile as he falls asleep in my arms. My family has never felt so complete.

6 MONTHS LATER

I wake up suddenly. I don't know why until I hear little Sammy's cry. I consider making John deal with our son's poopy diaper, but he just looks so peaceful and sound asleep. I sigh. The joy of parenting: getting woken up at two in the morning to change a smelly diaper while dodging a stream a pee that's aimed for your face. _It's totally worth it, though,_ I think. _Being a mother is the best thing that's ever happened to me._ I get out of bed and walk to Sam's nursery. I go to open the door.

It's already open.

I see a dark shape looming over my child. Did John beat me here? The figure turns toward me, and I see two yellow, glowing eyes. Not that son of a bitch! Bastard's gonna pay for making my child cry. I scream and charge, letting my hunter's instincts kick in for the first time in six years. I go to kick him in the crotch, but he grabs my leg. I screech as my bone splinters. Through the haze of icy fire and knives stabbing my shin, I notice that Sam's stopped crying. At least there's that.

"You bitch! I told you nobody would get hurt if I wasn't interrupted!" The yellow-eyed demon, Azazel, yells. His scowl turns to a smirk. "How about this: I give your stupid children a more normal life than they would originally. _If_ you sleep with me."

I am a faithful wife to my husband. "I would rather die than sleep with you!" I spit at him. "How about you give my babies normal lives, and I let you live?"

Azazel ponders this for a moment. "How about I kill you, and give your boys a normal childhood? Where they're together and happy?"

That's the best thing a mother could ask for. I glance at Sam, my Sam. A normal life. I think of Dean. They could both grow up as normal, happy brothers should grow up. They won't be hunters. They'll have the life that I always wanted for myself. All it costs is my life. They'll hardly remember me. In fact, I don't think they will remember me at all. John will miss me, but he'll get over it. He'll marry someone else, have some more kids. I sob, knowing what my answer will be. My death for their happiness. It's not an unfair price.

"Deal," I say.

Azazel kisses me roughly, his hands groping. Might as well not fight it. I'm already injured. I hear John call my name, and I realize – too late – I just made the wrong decision. I scream as the yellow-eyed demon rips my stomach open. I remember that I thought I was pregnant again. I see John fall to his knees. I see Dean staring at me. I see my husband tell my son something. I watch my oldest son grab my baby boy from his crib and run. I feel the wet warmth of blood cascading down my body. I feel myself float to the ceiling. I feel intense heat. I feel nothing.


	3. Bobby Singer's POV

Chapter 2

Bobby Singer's POV

Sam and Dean Winchester are the first kids I was given to foster three years ago. So far, they're my favorite, but I can't admit that out loud. I got into fostering kids when my wife died in a hunting accident. We didn't have any kids because I'm sterile. We both wanted to, though. We were gonna adopt a little girl named Pamela. Tears slide down my face, soaking into my beard and making it itchy. Balls. I wipe my face. I'm doing what she'd want me to do. I sigh, slumping over the World War I book I'm reading. I need to stop thinking about my dead wife. She's dead. It's my fault she's dead. My fault we didn't have kids. I pour myself a drink. Not enough to get drunk, but I'll certainly be in a hell of a better mood. I sip it, barely feeling the burn. I decide to think of the brothers instead.

Dean is nine years old and he has more energy than a squirrel that drank a gallon of coffee. He's always ping-polling around the house. He hasn't knocked anything over in the three years he's lived here, surprisingly. He refuses to cut his hair, so it's all shaggy and growing funny. His hair is light blonde, getting darker as you look closer to his scalp. It reaches his chin. He has light freckles across his nose that get harder to see as he tans. The older Winchester is smarter than he acts at school. Poor boy can't pay attention or sit still long enough to learn anything. Overall, he's a happy, energetic maniac. But the loss of his parents makes it so his grins with dimples don't quite reach his green eyes. He's very protective of his little brother.

Sam is five and just started kindergarten. He admires Dean and is always depending on his big brother to save the day. Probably his subconscious has something to do with that. After all, Dean did save Sam from the fire that killed their parents five years ago. The younger Winchester is too smart for his own good. He's going to skip first grade next year. He's the tallest kid in his class, so he'll certainly fit in with the second graders. Heck, he's taller than most of the first graders. He's also insanely mature for five. He follows his older brother's refusal to cut his hair. His brown locks reach his collar bone. The brothers' hair grows so fast that I've been having to trim their hair in their sleep just to make sure they don't become two Rapunzels. They're certainly princess enough, those spoiled brats. It's not my fault their so easy to spoil rotten.

Sam and Dean are great kids. It's a shame they have to grow up like this. Both parents dead in a house fire five years ago. One brother remembers the whole thing while the other has no memories at all of his parents. It's sad that the world can be so cruel. At least they don't know it was caused by a demon. I only know because on the news it was reported that there was sulfur in the nursery. The story is that John Winchester, the dad, was smoking in his six-month-old son's nursery where he was so drunk he dropped it into a pile of sulfur (which got there from an attempt at making a new kind of drug). That apparently caused the entire house and two adults to get torched. What utter bull crap. I'm just glad I gave up hunting for fostering kids. I'm still helping humanity by raising another generation of clueless children. How it should be. I hear yelling in the kitchen and a crash.

"Balls," I grumble. I toss the last sip of my beverage down the hatch. "Knock it off ya idjits!" I shout. I'm the tough love sort of guy.

Social services dumped two more kids on me this morning. Now I foster four boys. God knows I'm getting too old for this. At least they're older than the Winchesters. I don't know nothing about the two new boys other than that their names are Michael and Lucifer and that they're sixteen and twelve, respectively. Michael seems too loyal to whatever father figure he had before. Lucifer is wild, always smashing things. Almost like the devil himself. I know all this from after ten hours of taking them under my wing. I groan. There's more yelling and another crash. I'm suddenly very thankful I don't own anything nice or expensive. There's another crash. I should probably step in now.

"Balls," I mutter under my breath as I lurch to my feet, banging my knee on the desk I was just reading at.

I lumber toward the kitchen, holding my pounding head. Conflict always did give me a headache. I limp. I just gave myself a nasty bruise. Lovely. My foot catches on something – a shoe – and it jolts my injured knee too badly. It buckles. I fall backward with my arms flailing for something to hold onto. I gasp in shock and pain when my spine hits the corner of the desk causing a chunk of the corner to get stuck in my back. My legs go numb from my hips to my toes. I don't feel any blood, but I can tell that I'm bleeding by how woozy I feel. I try to stand up but I can't move my legs. I'd be ashamed of myself if I wasn't panicking. My breathing is shaky and my heart irregular. A world-class ex-hunter, taken out by a damned piece of furniture. I think I'm going to die because it doesn't hurt. Not one bit. I just made my body go into shock probably. I could have a heart attack at any moment I scared myself so bad. Hell, I might already be on my way to cardiac arrest the way my heart's beating. The situation gets worse when my foster boys come running in. The Winchesters gag at my blood, but the older boys are unfazed. Lucifer calls an ambulance while Michael kneels next to me.

"The Winchesters can't stay here. It isn't God's will for them to stay. They are to face their destiny. You got in the way of that, Bobby Singer. You're injured too severely for humans to heal you completely. The social services are going to take them away, to where they belong," Michael says. The way he talks bout Sam and Dean… it's like he owns them.

"Yeah, yeah. God's will, destiny, fate, religious mumbo jumbo. I was getting too old for this anyway," I mutter. I'm freakin' forty two years old. I've lived my life. I just don't want to die in front of the Winchesters. They've seen more death than they should have already.

The ambulance arrives. I'm carted away on a stretcher that smells more sterile than I am. I ignore the doctors' pestering questions and fall asleep after settling into the clean pillows.

38 HOURS LATER

"Should we heal him? The Winchesters can now follow their destiny. It is unnecessary for him to remain paralyzed in his legs."

"No, Michael. He could still get in the way of our plans."

"Lucifer, we have orders. Rebel one last time and you will have committed blasphemy not even Father could forgive."

"La-ame!"

"He does have a point though, Zachariah."

"Shut up, Uriel. What were the orders?

"Who cares about the orders! I say we should just kill him here and now! Come on you guys, you know how -"

"Lucifer, get out. You are no longer welcome in Heaven."

"Aw, you're no fun, Michael!"

"I mean it, Lucifer."

"Can't make me."

"I'd beg to differ."

My eyes are sealed shut. A bright white light flashes, bright enough to blind me even with my eyes closed. I peel my eyes open only to be greeted with the sight of a bacteria-free hospital room. I'm hooked up to a morphine drip and a bunch of other gadgets that go beep. Balls. Three emergency surgeries later and I still can't move my damned legs. At least the wood from my desk ain't still embedded in my spine. The Winchesters didn't see my die after all. Speaking of Sam and Dean, I want to see them, tell them that I'm okay. I call for a nurse.

"How can I help you, Mr. Singer?" a pretty young nurse asks as she walks in, looking at her clipboard. She's wearing a salmon-colored nurse's outfit.

"Can you get me my foster kids? I want to tell them that I'm okay. I know I freaked the littlest ones out," I say.

"I'm sorry sir, but I have been informed that you no longer have any custody over them," she says. She leaves the room before I can yell at her. The beeping noises get faster.

"Balls!" I shout, slumping deeper into the bed.

Curse Michael's "destiny" bull crap. I'd rather start hunting again than be paralyzed from the waist down.


	4. Alastair's POV

**This is the chapter containing the most trigger warnings. I'd recommend skipping this chapter if you are easily triggered. Read with caution.**

Chapter 3

Alastair's POV

I have a foster home for boys. The system gives me innocent little tasty morsels and I make them adults just like me. What they don't know is that I also steal little boys from their mommies. The stolen ones are the most fun. They're the ones who fight the longest, the ones who think that there's still hope. I take so much pleasure in breaking them. It's the ones given to me that are the smart ones. They have nobody who wants them. They know there's no hope. A couple of them fight. I love it when they fight. They snap quicker than the others. I think the two little ones I was given last week won't break. At least the oldest one won't. He's a fighter.

Dean Winchester is such an angry little thing. Almost ten years old and he's already beaten two boys bloody. He'd make a fine addition to my collection. I just have to break him. I think he'll be one of the ones I don't kill. I'll put him back together so he'll be like me. I've already made three mini-Alastair's. I just need to lure the Winchester in… He really seems to love his brother, Sam. Maybe I'll start there. I have a prostitute in my closet. He could dismember her in exchange for me not hurting his precious little brother. Then when he's older, twelve maybe, he can join my special group of boys. Thomas, Trevor, and Nelson. The boys I deflower.

Every night I educate my special group of boys on adult activities. They've all given up fighting and it's quite boring now. I love it when they thrash around screaming and crying. If they're lucky, I tie them to my bed and cut shapes into their bellies while I ride them. Oh, I can't wait until Dean is twelve. I have to have him now. The younger they are, the longer they fight, the more fun I have. I need to have him for the rest of the night. I'll kill the three boys I already have during our scheduled sessions. Thomas is the oldest at fifteen, and Nelson the youngest at thirteen. Too old, by heaven. I've had them for a year and a half. My, I've gone soft.

I peek around a corner into Dean's room. Aw, he's asleep next to Sammy. How disgusting. I close their door and lock it, hiding the key on the door sill. I shiver with excitement. I love new toys. They're so soft, fresh, innocent, and delicious when they're young and new. I grin. I just need to kill off my three special boys and then I can have Dean. I walk into Nelson's room. He doesn't look up when he sees me. He just stands up and takes his shoes off while I close and lock the door. He knows the drill. How boring.

I grab his face and kiss him. I am too used to his passionless response. I never get a lad who doesn't stop fighting and who doesn't give up. A shame, really. I think about how I'm going to kill him. Should I strangle him while I drive into him? Should I break his neck? Should I torture him? There are just too many good options! Oh, I know. I'll cut off his privates and let him bleed to death. Yes, that will do fine. And I'll have a souvenir! I lick his collar bone as I unbutton his red flannel.

"We're going to do things differently today," I moan into Nelson's ear while I remove his jeans.

I ruffle his black hair and Nelson stiffens, a minute reaction. I laugh as I sink to my knees and pull off his green boxers. Green, like the color of Dean's eyes. Yummy. My old toy shivers at the feeling of cold air touching him where I'll be very soon. He knows by now that change is not a good thing with me. I hug his naked body, running my hands along the underside of his legs and squeezing his butt cheeks. My nose is buried in his belly. I take in a deep breath through my nose and I smell his familiar scent. He smells vaguely of bacon, turnips, and lemonade. He smells delicious. I grope for the scars I've given him. They're not hard to find as they're quite large and there are many of them. I sure do love my knives.

Speaking of knives… I sit on my heels and lick my future trophy. He's soft, but I'm used to it. I've never had anybody who enjoys what I do to them. He looks down at me, his big brown eyes filling with tears. His curly black hair just barely covers his eyes. He is silently begging for me to stop. For me to let him go back tot the family I took him from all that time ago. I shake my head at his wordless plea. He knows what happens when he protests.

"I-is it… going to hurt?" he chokes out quietly, his high-pitched voice trembling.

All my boys haven't gone through puberty. They're no fun when they have. So I force their hormones not to kick in by starving them and hurting them when they age. It works so well.

I grin up at him. "Very much!" I say gleefully. I ignore the tears falling onto my head. I grab my trusty, rusty, blood-stained knife from under Nelson's bed and stand up. I keep it there because I always start with him. "Lay down on the bed."

"Back, side, or stomach?" he asks through gritted teeth.

"Back." I need my future trophy to be facing me so I can easily cut it off.

He follows my orders. I get on the bed after him, straddling him and finding pleasure in the fact that he's naked and I'm fully clothed. I draw the tip of my knife from his chin to his pelvis. A long, thin line of blood is what is left behind. Nelson doesn't flinch, just watches me in fear with wide eyes. He knows what I'm going to do. He knows he can't stop it. He knows he's about to die. Yet he seems… relieved. This makes me very angry. I slowly hack off the goods, my jeans tightening as he screams. I silence him with a kiss. He bleeds slower than I though he would, but that's all right. I have my first trophy. I put it in a cup on his nightstand, never moving from my throne.

I nuzzle him as he dies, kissing his neck and then stabbing him where I kissed him. The gurgles of death are so beautiful when put together with the violent, involuntary spasms. By the time he finally dies, my pants are so tight it's almost painful. I consider baptizing his corpse with my cream but decide against it. I want to save myself for Dean. I bury Nelson in a shallow grave outside his window.

Time for the others.

20 MINUTES LATER

Digging graves is hard work. I'm glad I'm going to reward myself with Dean. My jeans and shirt are already blood-stained, so I don't bother changing my clothes. There's only going to be more blood. I unlock his bedroom door. Gag! The brothers are still sleeping cuddled up against each other. The prostitute's still in my closet. I think I'll begin his training right now. I grab Dean by the hair and drag him out of his bed and into my room. He wakes up instantly. His screams, despite being loud, don't wake his brother. I chuckle.

"LET ME GO!" Dean shouts, struggling against me as I kiss him. I was right. He is a fighter. My pants somehow grow even tighter and even more painful.

"No. You are going to learn the art of torture," I say proudly. "Taught by yours truly!" I add, beaming.

I tell him what to do to the prostitute after I drag her out of my closet. He doesn't do anything I've commanded him to do so I kill the prostitute. She was such a vile creature, begging for money by seducing men and women. Since Dean disobeyed, I have to punish him. He sure bleeds a lot for such a little guy. When my pants are no longer tight, they are pooled around my ankles. I pull them up as my new toy flees my bedroom. His runs, bow-legged. I drool at the sight of my cream dripping out of him.

Since I like Dean so much, I make sure to show him a good time twice a day. Every day. He never stops fighting and I love it. Maybe I should increase our sessions to five times a day. Yes, that's what I'll do.

3 MONTHS LATER

Dean finally gave up! I cracked him on his tenth birthday by threatening to do things to Sam. I also gave him beautiful scars on his belly. I cut stars. I cut extra deep so that they won't ever fade. I finally, after two and a half months of trying, broke Dean Winchester. For some reason, him not fighting me makes me want to do even more sessions with him. I've been playing with my broken toy ten times a day, watching him break more and more and more every time.

I think that he lets me play with him to protect little Sammy (who is too young for my tastes at six). It's working, too. I threaten to play with his brother every session. To make the younger Winchester my new toy if he doesn't stop fighting me. It works like a charm. I watch something shatter inside of my special little boy every single time. I remember his birthday, when I broke him.

 _"_ _Stop fighting!" I yelled, blocking his tiny fists. "I was only trying to get you naked! I want to wish you happy double-digits!"_

 _"_ _STOP DOING THIS TO ME!" Dean cried, trying to pull his pants back up. "LEAVE ME ALONE YOU BASTARD!"_

 _I smacked him, causing his lip to bleed. Damn it. I love the face. The face is the only part I don't slice and dice with my knives. I feel a sense of angry calm wash through me. I say in a monotone, "Look what you made me do. You're bleeding. I have to punish you now."_

 _I licked the blood off of his soft pink mouth. I pinned him to my bed and held his arms above his head. I ripped his clothes off before he could react and start fighting again. I pulled out my knife._

 _"_ _Please! Please stop! Let me and my brother go!" Dean sobbed, sucking in his stomach in resistance to my knife poised to slice his belly. "Please. Stop."_

 _I saw myself reflected in his eyes. My blonde hair was almost brown from being unwashed. It hung in dread locks that reached my shoulders. My normally blue eyes were almost completely black, my pupils blown wide with lust. My teeth were stained from my lack of brushing them after biting into his flesh and drawing blood. Sweat and blood mixed on my face, on my whole, naked body. My hips jutted out and I could count my ribs if I wanted to. I hadn't seen what I looked like in days. I'd been cutting my beard with scissors so it wouldn't cover Dean's face while I played with him._

 _I looked past my reflection into Dean's soul. I saw something in his forest green eyes. Something fragile teetering on a ledge. Something about to fall. It was held up by something… Anger? Fury? Hope? No… he thought he deserved my love. Since he survived the fire while his parents didn't. For bringing his brother with him to this place. Ah, I could see it then. He wasn't breaking because of his love for little Sammy Winchester. Dean felt that he needed to be strong for his brother so the younger Winchester wouldn't share the same fate. I grinned, knowing that I would snap him there and then._

 _I put my complete weight on his body so I could whisper in his ear, "If you don't do everything I tell you to, I will hurt your precious little Sammy. I will fuck him harder than I fuck you. I'll put my dick in his tiny little asshole and empty myself into him while I use my fingernails to scrape his skin off. I will cut off all of his fingers and toes. I will scoop his eyeballs out with a spoon and make him eat them. I will cut off his tongue and shove it up his ass. I will get my sharpest, rustiest knife and use my cock to jam it into his asshole and pump it into his intestines so he bleeds to death. I will kill Sam if you don't stop fighting me."_

 _I kept my eyes locked on his as I threatened to kill his brother. His resolve wasn't as strong as his devotion for his brother. I watched something inside of his soul shatter. Dean's eyes glazed over as if he was no longer in his body. His distant eyes flickered to the window. I looked just in time to watch a shooting star fly by. I grinned and cut ten stars into the soft, warm flesh of his belly. I almost got a nosebleed at the sight of his eyes filling with tears and spill onto his face. I laughed in glee. I did it! I broke Dean Winchester!_

 _"_ _Lay down on your stomach," I ordered, allowing him the room he needed to flip over._

 _I entered him and I knew right away that I liked broken Dean way more than fighting Dean. I didn't even try to be gentle. I loved it when he couldn't walk properly because of me. I gave him love bites. The bruises formed almost instantly. I reached climax sooner than usual. I shuddered and moaned Dean's name. I got off of him._

 _"_ _Stand up," I commanded._

 _He complied, getting off of my bed and standing in front of me._

 _"_ _Kiss me," I said, bending down so he could touch his lips to mine._

 _Without hesitation he pressed his lips to mine. I felt him mumble, "For my brother." I chose to ignore that and pulled away._

 _"_ _Happy tenth birthday my special little boy. Now bend over."_

I'm going to start rebuilding him so he turns out like me. I taught him through kinetic education, now he's going to apply what he learned onto an eight-year-old girl I kidnapped for him. I lead him to Nelson's old bedroom where the girl is tied to the bed. I watch Dean stare at her naked form with no expression at all. I dock ten points. He's supposed to be having fun and enjoying himself. I know I do.

Sirens wail faintly in the distance. His eyes, usually glazed over, seem to focus for the first time in three weeks. I fail him for the hope he's feeling. By his posture I can tell that he knows it's false hope, so I give him twenty points of extra credit. He seems to go for intimidation; the girl wets herself at the sight of Dean slowly removing his jacket, socks, and shoes. The sirens grow louder still, my student moving slower and slower as the noise grows louder and louder. Weird. The police don't usually come this way.

"Hurry up, Dean!" I groan. I'm anxious to watch my student blossom into a younger version of myself. Just like how my father shaped me into the man I am today. The sirens stop and I hear car doors slam. Shit.

"POLICE! WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED!"

"Shit," I hiss under my breath.

The police break down the front door. They'll find us in about ten seconds. I turn to Dean, deadly calm.

"Fuck you, you little faggot. You fucking called them. I'm going to kill you, like you deserve. Then I'm going to kill your faggot brother. I should've fucked him when I had the chance."

I'm reaching for my knife when I feel a pain in my right temple. My vision blurs and I crumple to the floor. My vision goes red. I look around me. I'm in Hell. Such a marvelous place. I look behind me and see and angel sitting on a magnificent throne. This is Hell, why is an angel here? The angel smiles at me.

"How would you like to become a demon and completely fuck up Dean Winchester's life?" The angel asks me.

"I'd fucking love to."


	5. Castiel Novak's POV

**This chapter contains a flashback to Chapter 3. Skip the words in bold towards the end if you are easily triggered.**

A/N: Most of my stories I write very late at night/early in the morning when I am sleep deprived. Please point out the plot holes and spelling/grammar mistakes if you spot them.

Chapter 4

Castiel's POV

I've lived at the Road House for two years now. My identical twin brother, Jimmy, and I were separated when I was moved here. Nobody could tell the difference between us and it caused much trouble. I miss him, but I've never been happier since our parents died in a car crash when we were eight. We're twelve now. Social services separated my entire remaining family. Gabriel, Anna, Hanna, and Samandriel. There are just too many of us Novaks. My heart aches with emptiness, devoid of my siblings.

At least I have the other foster children. Benny, Lisa, Jo, Dorothy, Charlie, Meg, and Ash are all very nice people. Ellen is the woman who fosters all of us. She's too much like a real mother. My mother, Naomi, was a cold, non-caring person. My family was religious and stiff. Ellen's family is loving, caring, and wild. Family doesn't end with blood.

The doorbell rings, startling me. That'll be the new foster kids! Two brothers lucky enough not to be separated. Sam and Dean Winchester, I believe.

"I got it!" I shout, racing for the door. I open it and say, "Hi! Welcome to the Road House Foster Home. Ellen Harvelle is in her office. My name is Castiel, and I'd like to welcome you to our home." I smile shyly at the two boys standing on the porch. I step aside to allow the constipated-looking social security worker in. She walks to Ellen's office. I notice the boy's luggage. "Want some help?"

"Yes, thank you," the younger-looking boy says. "I'm Sam by the way. This is my big brother Dean. It's nice to meet you, Castiel."

As we carry their luggage to their room, I tell them about the other foster kids.

"Ash is the oldest. He's the one with the mullet. He's fifteen. His dad died in a bar fight. Benny is fourteen, he's the one with an accent and always wearing that hat. He's here because his family kicked him out for being transgender. He's female to male. Lisa is his girlfriend. She's fourteen, too. Her dad murdered her mom when she was a baby.

"Charlie is twelve. Her dad left when she was a kid and her mom's in a coma. Dorothy is twelve. Her sister got knocked up by her boyfriend and couldn't take care of her anymore. Charlie and Dorothy are dating. Jo has been here the longest. She's ten. She was left in a basket on Ellen's doorstep when she was just a baby. I'm thirteen.

"I'm here because my siblings and I got separated since there were so many of us. Meg has the worst back story here. She's thirteen. Her dad got shot when he was caught molesting her best friend. She saw the entire thing." By the time I'm done talking, we are in the brothers' new bedroom.

A strangled noise comes from Dean, his green eyes widening and filling with tears. Guilt and concern rush through me. I apologize profusely, rushing over to give him a hug. He flinches away from my touch and looks at me with fear-filled eyes before running out of the room. His brother runs after him. I don't bother. I'm too shocked. His eyes, the way he looked at me… It was like he thought I was going to kill him. He looked shattered. I numbly shuffle from the room, my movements slowed down by an anvil in my stomach and tingling in my legs. What happened to that kid?

1:53 AM

 _Gabriel, Anna, Hannah, Samandriel, and I sit on a giant blanket with an array of food before us. We're laughing at stupid jokes, throwing food at each other, and having fun. I'm the middle child who gets teased by two older siblings and who gets to tease two younger siblings. Pieces of food fly out of mouths as we laugh at an ant that struggles to carry a sausage of the brand "Diestel" to its colony._

 _I close my eyes and let the sunshine hit my face. The light turns the inside of my eyelids a bright red. I smell an assortment of breads, cheeses, meats, and sweets. I have a lingering taste of hamburgers on my tongue. I feel a gentle breeze cause my hair to dance on my head, the grass tickling my hands. I expect to hear my siblings laughing but instead hear silence._

 _I frown and open my eyes. My family is gone. In their place is a boy who looks about my age. He has buzz-cut golden hair that shimmers in the light. He has freckles speckled across his nose and cheeks. He looks sad. I look at his eyes and am met with the sight of deep green pits of misery. I gasp. It's Dean. He needs my help._

My eyes snap open. It was a dream. But it felt so real. For a few precious moments, I was with my family again. Dean. Why was he in my dream? I rub sleep out of my eyes and glance at my alarm clock. The glowing red numbers are bright enough to make me squint when I look at them. One fifty-six. Why am I up over four hours before my alarm is supposed to go off?

It takes my tired brain to process anything. I am not a morning person. I dampen my chapped lips with my tongue and realize that I am thirsty. I should probably get some water. I groan at the thought of getting up. My bed is so warm and comfortable, why should I get out of it? My dry throat ceases to stop bugging me. I let out a sound of defeat and sit up.

I hiss when my bare feet touch the cold carpet. I'm very happy I slept in long-sleeved pajamas. I shuffle toward the door, an unhappy guttural sound leaving my mouth. I hate moving my body in the morning. I hate mornings. I grumble about waking up so early under my breath. I hunch over as I stumble my way to the kitchen. Stupid, unfaithful, early-rising body. I get my water and drink the entire cup, satiating my thirst. I am going to have to pee very badly later in the morning.

I drag myself back into the hallway. In the dark, I see a curled-up figure that's making whimpering noises. I want to cry, too. It's to early to be awake. I squint to see who it is. It's Dean. I instantly wake up. I rush over and kneel in front of him.

"Are you all right, Dean?" I ask in a whisper while placing my hand on his shoulder. He freezes. I take my hand off and mumble an apology.

"It's okay." Dean's whisper is hoarse from crying. "Just bad experiences making me a crybaby." He looks up at me. I am glad it's too dark for me to see his eyes.

I sit down next to him and hesitantly put my arm around his shoulders. He stiffens for a few moments before relaxing. I gently pull him closer so I'm hugging him. He buries his face into my shoulder and sobs. I pat his back awkwardly in an attempt to comfort him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Want to? No. But my stupid shrink says I should 'come to terms with what happened to me.' And here I am taking her advice, about to spill my deepest, darkest secret to a complete stranger." He lets out a dark chuckle.

"You don't have to tell me," I say. I am very concerned and mildy curious, but I'd rather be curious than this poor boy have to relive something bad.

He waves my comment away. "It happened two years ago, the scars are healed now, and my brother didn't get hurt. Just promise you won't tell Sammy or anybody else. The only people who know what happened are me and my shrink."

I promise him I won't utter a word of what he says to anybody. He hesitates before saying, "I'm really sleep-deprived. Nightmares. That's why I'm crying and not running away from you right now. You're easy to trust when I'm tired."

"Thank you?" I say.

Dean takes a deep breath before starting. "When I was four years old, my parents died in a house fire. Sammy was only six months old. I saved him from the fire and raised him by myself on the streets until I was nine. Someone found us and put us in the system..."

 **He continues his story of sorrow. I learn that he watched his old foster parent impale himself on a desk and get paralyzed from the waist down. About how they took him and his brother away and placed them into a foster home run by a man named Alastair. He starts shaking violently and I feel hot tears soaking into my shirt. I ignore the wetness and instead focus on his almost unintelligible words.**

 **"** **I-I was there a w-w-week before h-he… b-before h-h-he… b-before i-it happened. I was asleep a-and h-he p-pulled me by my h-hair a-and m-m-murdered a w-woman I-in front of me s-since I-I-I w-w-w-wouldn't."**

 **I seem to absorb all of Dean's emotions. Now I'm the one shaking and crying. He seems to have gone numb. He continues in a monotone.**

 **"** **He said that I had to be punished. He pinned me to his bed and took his and my clothes off. He said I deserved what I got. I fought, but I was only nine and he was in his thirties. I was fucking nine years old. He raped me, Cas."**

 **My heart sinks. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. He has to be lying. He has to be! He's not. Nobody would make up a story like this. White-hot anger flashes through me. What kind of sicko would do that to a child? To anybody? I'm trembling too much to notice the nickname he Dean gave me. Dean. I'm so, so, so sorry Dean, I want to say. He keeps talking. There's more. Oh, God. There's a lot more and it only gets worse.**

 **"** **He kept raping me for three months. Multiple times a day. He would shove his dick up my ass and make me bleed he was so rough. He kept asking me why I wouldn't break, why I wouldn't stop fighting. I didn't tell him, but it was to protect my brother. If he kept trying to break me, he wouldn't hurt Sammy. That's the only thing that kept me from giving up. Then on my tenth birthday he brought in knives. I remember every second of it. Ever goddamn second. He broke me."**

 **I'm too shocked to say anything. I'm frozen. No, I'm dreaming. This is just a nightmare, it has to be. It's not. Of course it's not. I don't even realize that I'm still crying. I feel so selfish for thinking that I had it bad. I have it good. Dean doesn't. He was fucking raped. He let it happen to protect his brother. He raised Sam until he was nine. This boy has been through too much. His parents are dead, something he witnessed. He watched a man get paralyzed. He was raped for three months non-stop. I pray for the first time since my parents died. I pray for my friend to have a happy life, for him to heal, for him to always be with his brother, for this to be the end of his hardships.**

 **"** **He had dead blue eyes and dread locks. He never showered so he was filthy. He never ate so he was disgustingly skinny. He was still stronger than I was, and smarter. I asked him to stop and let me and my brother go. He was about to cut me with a knife. He told me he would fuck my brother harder than he fucked me. He said he would put a knife inside of Sammy and fuck it into his intestines." Dean starts shaking again. I can hear his teeth chattering.**

 **"** **He said he'd kill my brother if I didn't stop fighting him. So I stopped. He gave up. He sat on my cock and bounced up and down. It hurt so much. He used a blood-stained knife to cut ten stars into my stomach. He said it was a birthday present. Then his cum got into the cuts and it stung so bad. He said I was a good boy. He raped me more after I broke. At least he never touched Sam," Dean says.**

He stops talking and I can tell that he's finished. He starts crying again. All I can do is hold him closer to me and offer comfort and a person he can trust and feel safe around. I can't help but yawn. He yawns a few seconds after I do and stands up. I get up after him, swaying I'm so tired.

"We should go back to bed," I mumble.

"Is it okay if I sleep in your room tonight? I don't want to wake Sammy up if I have another nightmare." The tone of his voice breaks my heart.

"Of course." I give him a gently hug so he doesn't feel trapped. I lead him to my room. "You want to share the bed or do you want me to sleep on the bean bag?"

"Sharing the bed is fine. It's too cold for anything else."

I climb into my bed and lay down close to the edge. I feel his weight push his side of the bed down, creaking. He snuggles closer to me, something I find surprising. He must really feel safe around me. I smile softly and wrap my arms around him. I can feel his warm breaths on my neck, irregular at first and then long and even. He's asleep. I close my eyes and join him.


End file.
